It was one of those slow, drowsy afternoons when even the Thakur mansion breathe lazily.

The men were out, as they usually were- duties, meetings, village matters pulling them away from the house before noon itself.

Maasa rested in her room, the afternoon sun was shining warmly on the whole verandah.

Baapusa had been gone for three years now.

At first, the emptiness he left behind had felt unbearable… but time, in its own silent way, had stitched the house back into a rhythm.

Aradhya sat on the stone steps of the verandah, a steel plate resting on her lap.

Her fingers gently picked out dust and tiny husks from the wheat, her lips humming a faint tune she didn’t even realize she was singing.

It was something her mother used to hum around the house.

Inside the kitchen, Avni and Ira were busy doing their work.

Arav had gone to seher (town) for some work. After all, he was to become the next Sarpanch.

Rishi had left with the elder men of the house.

Aashvi was in college, one of the new buildings that had come up in the village over the past few years.

So much had changed. Roads had improved. Schools had opened. Teachers had been hired.

Aradhya still taught the village children whenever she could, slipping into classrooms between household responsibilities.

Avni and Ira didn’t do anything “big,” as the world would call it but they loved their small hobbies. Crochet, stitching, little handmade things that brought them quiet joy.

Right now, everything felt peaceful.

Almost too peaceful.

Aradhya brushed her palms against each other as she finished sorting the wheat and was just about to get up when her gaze shifted toward the main gate.

A tiny figure was sitting there.

Half hidden behind the gate rods.

Two cautious eyes were peeking in through the iron bars.

Her brows knitted together.

Living in a house as known and respected as the Thakur mansion came with its own risks.

You were admired… but you were also watched. And so, over time, all of them had learned to stay alert.

Aradhya placed the plate aside and walked slowly toward the gate, her steps careful, her heartbeat a little louder than before.

She reached out and opened it.

“Kaun hai?” she asked softly.

(Who is there?)

The small figure flinched.

And immediately stepped back.

Something about that tiny movement—so frightened made Aradhya’s chest tighten.

Aradhya Pov

I looked at the small figure standing before me.

A sari wrapped around her, far too heavy for someone her age.

It was not heavy in fabric… but in the kind of maturity it carried with her.

She was small, fragile, the kind of body a sixteen–seventeen-year-old should have.

Her features were beautiful but exhaustion had dulled them.

Like a bird that had just escaped a cage… only to realize it had forgotten how to fly.

There was so much innocence in her gaze but for some reason Her doe-like eyes were glistened with unshed tears.

Did I scared her?

I took a small step forward, instinctively wanting to help her stand but she stepped back at once, shaking her head in fear.

“Kya ho gaya, bacha… shaant ho jao” I said softly, slowing my movements so I wouldn’t frighten her.

(What happened, bacha… calm down.)

But she only shrank further.

So I lowered myself, crouching down in front of her.

“Beta… main kuch nahi karungi” I whispered gently.

(Beta..i won't do anything.)

“Main toh bas aapse baat kar rahi hoon, na?”

(I’m just here to talk to you.)

She stopped backing away.

Only then did I let out the breath I had been holding.

She was still a few steps away.

The road outside our house lay quiet and empty, fields stretching endlessly on either side.

How had she even made it here?

“Main paas aa jaaun aapke?” I asked quietly.

( Can I come a bit closer to you?)

She kept staring at me.

At that moment, I knew nothing about her. Not even her name But something in her eyes reminded me of Ira.

All I wanted was to pull her close… to protect her from whatever had taught her to be this afraid.

I noticed the marks then.

Burns on her wrist, Bruises on her neck. Faded wounds were every where.

My heart clenched but I kept my voice steady.

“Aa jaaun?” I repeated softly.

(Can I?)

“Aap darogi toh nahi na?”

(You won't be scared right?)

Her gaze dropped to my hands… to my sides… as if searching for something, Something that could maybe hurt her.

After a long moment, she slowly shook her head.

I moved closer, careful, slow until I was kneeling beside her.

She pressed herself against the wall, still trying to keep even the smallest distance between us.

She pulled her sari tighter around herself, covering her chest, her body

What had happened to a soul this gentle…

She sat on the stone step, knees drawn close to her chest, her head bent so low i could barely see her face.

“Kya hogaya, hm?”

(What happened, hm?)

“Kaun ho tum?”

(Who are you?)

“Kahan se aayi ho?”

(Where have you come from?)

I kept my voice as gentle as I could, soft the way you speak to frightened children.

She didn’t answer any of it, Not even a whisper something.

Her head remained lowered, shoulders were tensed as though she was waiting for something bad to happen.

“Aap kho gayi ho?”

(Are you lost?)

Nothing.

I took a slow breath and glanced around the quiet courtyard before asking again, more carefully this time.

“Koi aapko yahan chhod gaya hai kya?”

(Did someone leave you here?)

Her eyes moved then - restless, darting from one corner to another, watching everything with fear and suspicion.

But still… she didn’t look up.

I didn’t know what else to do.

Words weren’t reaching her.

So I tried something else, that felt like she needed a lot at this moment.

“Aapko bhook lagi hai?”

(Are you hungry?)

This time, she reacted.

Her head lifted suddenly, just a little, as if I had spoken something completely unfamiliar. Her eyes met mine for a second, wide and startled.

“Bhook lagi hai na?”

(You’re hungry, right?)

I smiled gently when I repeated it.

Slowly, hesitantly, she raised her hand and made a small gesture toward her mouth, awkwardly unsure as if she was trying to confirm what I meant.

I nodded quickly and copied her gesture.

“Haan… kuch khaogi?”

(Yes… will you eat something?)

She nodded.

Fear was still written all over her face, but hunger was stronger.

I smiled and stood up, carefully holding her wrist. She flinched at first, trembling, but when I softly caressed her hand, she stopped pulling away.

I motioned for her to walk with me.

“Chalo.”

(Come.)

“Kya hogaya?”

(What happened?)

She hesitated, then lifted her finger toward me… then slowly mimed a slap against her own cheek. After that, she shook her head.

The meaning was clear.

Don't take me there and hit me, okay?

My heart shattered into pieces.

I shook my head quickly, panic and tenderness in my voice.

“Kabhi nahi, beta.”

(Never, beta.)

“Main tumhe kyun maarungi?”

(Why would I ever hurt you?)

I kept a small distance while speaking, so she wouldn’t feel threatened.

She nodded almost instantly, trusting me far too easily as if even the smallest kindness felt huge to her.

I helped her stand up, noticing how she struggled. When we began walking, I saw she was limping.

There was pain in every step… yet not a single sound escaped her lips.

She must be hurt, I thought. I’ll check once we get inside.

I guided her slowly into the verandah.

That was when Avni came out of the kitchen.

She froze.

Her eyes widened, not at the girl… not even at me but at something behind us.

“Didi…” she whispered, staring over my shoulder.

I turned around.

And what I saw made my blood run cold.

Footsteps. It was not prints but pool of blood… trailing behind us.